The Reigate Quarry
by silkyterrier34
Summary: When Sherlock is kidnapped by a cult, Rosie and John are devastated. John, desperate to find his friend, hopes that he's picked up some of his best friend's talent for deductions. Meanwhile, Sherlock is trapped, and he only has a little over a week to escape before he has the "honor" of being killed.
1. The Park

**While I was taking a break from fan fiction I gained an interest in new fandoms, one of which was Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC's Sherlock. Truth be told I can't tell you how I came up with this specific story, but I have a feeling it has something to do with watching Supernatural at the same time.**

 **There are two things you should know. While I ship Johnlock (I really thought they were going that route in A Scandal in Belgravia), this fic is only pre-Johnlock. I'm hoping to write another story where they get together after this one. Also, I'm an American, so I might make mistakes here and there with vocabulary. For example, I might accidentally write "cookies" instead of "biscuits" or "trunk of the car" instead of "boot of the car." If anyone catches any errors, feel free to let me know so I can fix it!**

 **I really hope you all enjoy the fic!**

 **I don't own Sherlock in any way, shape, or form. Although you probably knew that.**

* * *

Rosie Watson used her little shovel to scoop as much sand into the bucket as she could. Her goal was to build the best sandcastle ever, no easy feat when all you have is what's in the sandbox. There actually might be more sand in the pockets of her overalls than what was in the bucket.

She looked over to the bench a few yards behind her and enthusiastically waved to the two occupants. She waited for her father and Sherlock to return the gesture before going back to her project.

John didn't take his eyes off of his little girl as he talked to Sherlock. "So what about-"

"No."

"You don't even know what nursery I was going to say."

Sherlock sighed. "Given the ones you looked at earlier on your laptop and excluding the ones I know you wouldn't like and the ones I've already rejected, you're obviously talking about the nursery in Southgate. I researched the background of the teachers. All are incompetent."

"...You got into my laptop?"

"Your passwords are getting more challenging. I congratulate you for that."

"Well thank you for your invaluable input," John sarcastically remarked, "but I believe it's my decision what nursery is most fitting for Rosie."

Sherlock scoffed. "She'd learn more at Baker Street."

John finally looked at him. "It's not just about learning academics. It's also about learning social skills."

"She socializes with plenty of people. You, me, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Lestrade-"

"I mean with people her own age, Sherlock."

"That's why we take her to the park," Sherlock pointed out.

John gestured to the playground. "How many kids are here today, Sherlock?"

The looming dark clouds had scared off many of the regulars, leaving only a couple of other families. "A rich boy with his nanny. I'm guessing he's around eight or nine. Then there's that one boy going down his favorite slide over and over again while his mother's on the phone. And then there's that one girl who pushed Rosie over before kicking you in the shin a few weeks ago."

"And Rosie's not socializing with any of them."

"Well of course not. They're not her friends. When the weather gets better, she'll have her friends to play with."

"She'll make more friends at nursery that weather won't keep away," John countered. "Vanessa said she was planning on sending Lewis to-"

"Hey!"

At Rosie's outcry, both men were instantly on their feet and running over to the sandbox. Luckily, the one who caused her to shout was just that rich boy Sherlock had deduced earlier.

"That's mine!"

The boy just started making designs in the sand with the stolen shovel. "You should learn to share."

Rosie stood and reared her tiny hand back in prepartation for hitting the thief. She didn't care if it was against the rules.

"Rosie!" her father called, "What happened?!"

As Rosie let her hand drop to her side, Sherlock whispered, "Isn't it obvious?"

She pointed at the boy. "He taked my shovel!"

The boy didn't look intimidated by the arrival of Sherlock and John. He just continued his designs in the sand. Even when the nanny arrived, he showed no inkling of remorse.

"Jack, give the shovel back please."

He didn't react to his nanny's request. Rosie was growing impatient and was tempted to jump on him to get the shovel back. It had been a gift from Grandma and Grandpa (as Mr. and Mrs. Holmes insisted she call them) and she wasn't going to let this boy leave with it. It didn't matter if he was taller than her.

"Jack..." The nanny began wringing her hands as she pleaded. It was clear which one was in charge here.

"She needs to learn to share," he said.

John knelt so that he was closer to eye level with the children. "Did you ask to borrow it?"

Rosie answered for him. "No! I was using it to make my castle and he taked it from me!"

Jack looked at the hill of sand. "That's not a castle."

"Yes it is! Give back my shovel!"

"Rosie," said John, "Let me handle this, Sweetheart."

"No, John," said Sherlock, "Let me handle this." He stepped forward. "So... Jack... You do understand that you stole that shovel."

Jack used his hand to erase part of his drawing in the sand. If he heard Sherlock, he didn't show it.

"Just as taking that chocolate earlier was stealing."

He froze. Sherlock did that smug, one-sided grin of his as all eyes were on him. Rosie's in curiosity, Jack's in fear, and John and the nanny's in uneasiness.

"I didn't take anything from the sweets jar!"

"I didn't say anything about the sweets jar."

The nanny spoke up, "There's a sweets jar in the kitchen."

"And not something you can take from whenever you want. You should know that just because you have a bad back and no mother doesn't mean you can take things without permission."

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed.

He ignored him. "I would suggest that you return the shovel if you want your father to continue seeing you as the child that can do no wrong."

Smiling at Jack, Rosie held out her hand for him to put the shovel in. Hesitantly, he gave it to her before standing up and walking away. His nanny apologized before going after him.

"I'm going to stick my tongue out at him!" said Rosie.

"No you're not," said John, "We should actually head home now." He asked Sherlock, "Think we can make it back before it rains?"

Sherlock examined the sky. "I think so. But we better hurry. It won't be long before Sesame Street starts."

Rosie placed her shovel in the bucket before running in the direction of 221B Baker Street. "Let's go!"

John stood up as fast as he could. "Rosie, wait! The road!"

Like the well-behaved girl she was, Rosie stopped and waited for John and Sherlock to reach her. John was very grateful he didn't usually have to chase her when she got excited. Running after people for cases was enough, thank you very much.

When they reached her, Rosie used her free hand to hold her father's. "Sorry, Daddy. I just really love Sesame Street."

The three continued walking home. "It's all right. You just need to remember to think when you get excited."

There was a brief silence before Rosie asked Sherlock, "How did you know all about Jack?"

Sherlock explained, "Jack's clothes and hair were the key factors. His clothes were oddly clean despite spending time at the park and not a single hair was out of place. The nanny had even stopped him to comb his hair. This means he's expected to have an impeccable appearance, which makes the smudge of chocolate at the corner of his mouth out of place. You'd think the nanny or whoever was with him when he had chocolate would have made sure there was no trace of it on his mouth. This means he ate it without anyone knowing.

"As for the deceased mother, whenever he saw a mother and child together, he looked envious. This means either an absent mother or a dead one. However, his expression never changed whether he looked at a loving mother or one who was ignoring her child. So she's deceased. This leaves his father who's under the impression he's a little angel."

John said, "Let me guess. Something else about his hair?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No. It was mostly the nanny that suggested it. As I told you before we had the pleasure of meeting him, John, he's rich. A family with that amount of money would be able to hire a well-trained one, as I'm sure his father did, yet she was unable to discipline him. Her reason obviously being the father would believe Jack didn't deserve any punishment."

Knowing Sherlock used several words Rosie wouldn't comprehend, John asked, "Did you understand all of that, Sweetheart?"

Rosie scrunched up her nose and mouth in concentration. "I don't know."

Rather than roll his eyes like he would with adults, Sherlock smiled. "You will one day."

She smiled back before asking John, "Can you explain it, Daddy?"

John straightened a little as he answered, "I can tell you the boy has back problems by the way he walked."

Rosie was genuinely impressed. "Wow! I wish I was as smart as you and Sherlock!"

"We can start with grammar," said Sherlock, "It's 'took' not 'taked.'"

"Took," she repeated, "Took."

"I think that's a record for how long it's taken for you to correct her," said John.

"I was too focused on retrieving some stolen goods."

John grinned before looking down at Rosie. She had suddenly turned somber. "What's wrong?"

"Was my castle bad?"

Sherlock and John glanced at each other. The 'castle' had just been a low hill of sand. It didn't resemble the inside of the bucket in the least.

Sherlock was the one who answered. "You need wet sand to make a sandcastle. You'll need to use beach sand."

She beamed at the answer, "Can we go to the beach?! Please!"

John gazed at her with such adoration that Sherlock's heart warmed at the sight. "Someday, Sweetheart. Someday."

"I'll build the best castle ever!"

"I believe," Sherlock began. "that I have built the best palace ever."

She gasped. "I can build your Mind Palace!"

"You don't know what it looks like."

"Then draw it!" exclaimed Rosie.

John cleared his throat.

"Oh! I mean, can you draw it for me please?"

Sherlock's Mind Palace was a very private place. One where he went to not only retrieve information but to escape from the outside world. He's given a tour to the John in his mind several times, and Rosie herself would sometimes be there when he needed a child's perspective to solve a case. But the whole time Sherlock knew that neither of them were real. To actually expose his palace to them would be similar to showing a diary.

Then again, it would only be the outside, and he had the right to refuse to explain what certain rooms were for. Not to mention the way she was looking at him made it difficult to say no.

"I'll see what I can do."

That answer seemed to satisfy her as she began expressing her excitement for watching Sesame Street.

* * *

As soon as they got back, Rosie dashed to the telly. This left John free to reprimand Sherlock in the kitchen.

"That was a bit not good, Sherlock."

"What was?"

"Bringing up the boy's bad back and dead mother. Then you practically threatened him."

"It got back the shovel, didn't it? Don't act like you weren't impressed."

John crossed his arms. Sure the whole deduction part was impressive. It always was, but Sherlock just didn't know when he crossed the line, which years ago scared off dates, offended witnesses, and even got himself in trouble with the law. Now that John isn't trying to date nowadays, it seems Sherlock has moved on to insulting the parents of Rosie's friends. Luckily, John was able to keep him from socializing with the ones who are easily offended.

"You don't go around interrogating children. Bullies and criminals aren't the same thing."

"He took something that didn't belong to him and without the permission of the owner. That makes him a thief."

John threw his hands halfway up. "I give up. I'm going to watch Sesame Street with Rosie."

Sherlock shrugged off his belstaff. "Boring."

As he hung up his coat he heard Rosie start singing (at least as best as she could) the Sesame Street theme song. How anyone could like that show, he would never understand. The only reason he ever watched that show is if Rosie practically begged him too. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone who asked.

Since the living room was under the control of singing monsters, Sherlock decided it was best to go up to his own room where he could think in peace.

* * *

 **I'm no Sherlock, so the deductions from earlier probably aren't 100% accurate. Either way, did you guys catch the reference to _The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire_? For those of you who don't know, it's a Sherlock Holmes short story by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**

 **I'll be posting when I plan on updating the next chapter when I have an idea of when it'll be finished. It will be on my profile. Until then, let me know what you think!**


	2. The Accident

**I'm back with a new chapter! The cult hasn't shown up yet, but this is a very important chapter for the story. I promise they'll make an appearance in the next chapter!**

* * *

Sherlock grabbed the tooth with his gloved hand and brought it close to his eyes. While it was difficult to see through the safety goggles, it seemed this tooth was in perfect condition despite some yellowing. Now to saw it in half.

He picked up the tiny circular saw when he saw Rosie step into the kitchen. "You're not allowed in here while I'm experimenting, remember?"

"Oh!" she walked backwards until she was back in the living room. "Can you get me a snack?"

"I have hydrogen peroxide on my gloves." He cleared his throat before he called out, "Mrs. Hudson!"

"Are you holding a tooth?" Rosie asked.

Sherlock glanced at the tooth, hoping John wouldn't mind that Rosie had seen it. "Yes."

"Where did you get it?"

"I bought it from the tooth fairy. Why do you think she collects teeth in the first place?"

She smiled. "Oh! It all makes sense now!"

He couldn't help but smile back at her. How simple children are.

Mrs. Hudson entered 221B. "What is it?"

"Rosie needs a snack."

Mrs. Hudson crossed her arms. "Not your housekeeper."

Sherlock turned on the saw and proceeded to cut the tooth in half. He knew Mrs. Hudson would feed Rosie. It was one of her favorite activities.

Sure enough, Mrs. Hudson took Rosie's little hand in hers and gave it a few friendly pats. "I'll be right back, Dear."

When she left, Rosie went back to the middle of living room to continue coloring her masterpiece. Sherlock, not being allowed to use any of the bowls, gently placed half of the tooth in the frying pan of hydrogen peroxide. It was a childish experiment compared to what he usually did, but John made it clear that he was forbidden to use products that one wouldn't find in a house already. It was all part of child-proofing the flat.

Mrs. Hudson returned less than two minutes later with a fruit bowl. "Is John at the clinic all day?"

Sherlock placed the other half of the tooth under the microscope. "He won't be home until later tonight. Perfect for experimenting."

"Of course." She set the fruit bowl next to Rosie. "I have to go get some towels so you don't get juice all over the floor."

"I can be careful," insisted Rosie.

"I know, but even so, it's easy to make a mess." She stood and left again. "Now where did I leave them?"

Rosie focused on her drawing. It was the day when they went to the petting zoo. Specifically, it was the part where the chickens were chasing them. It took a lot to scare Sherlock and her daddy, but chickens had them running in fear that day. When the hens had charged, Daddy had picked her up so fast that his shoulder hurt all day. Sherlock still hasn't admitted that they scared him, but Daddy told her that they did. He said he wouldn't admit it because of something called 'pride.'

Rosie would like to be a chicken for Halloween. Or maybe a goat. She liked the goats there.

As she was contemplating this, Sherlock took the tooth that wasn't in the pan and put it under his microscope. He looked over at Rosie before focusing solely on the tooth under the lens. Nothing seemed to be abnormal so far.

Chicken or goat? Well, Halloween was still a long time away, and she was too close to finishing her picture to get distracted.

Molly said that this tooth was from a male. Judging by the state of the outside, this was a man in great health and/or who took his oral hygiene seriously. Perfect for this experiment.

Her drawing was done, and it was her best work yet if she said so herself. She couldn't wait to show her daddy and to be praised for her work. He'd kiss her on the cheek before asking where she thought they should put it. Maybe he'll even put it on his blog about Sherlock. She couldn't wait to show him!

Until he was home, she'd have to show it to Sherlock. He loved looking at her drawings and pointing out every little detail about them. The idea alone of showing him was making her heart happy. She completely forgot about how she wasn't allowed in the kitchen at the moment.

With a large grin on her face, she stood and ran over to the kitchen. The microscope was limiting Sherlock's vision, making it impossible to see her coming.

"Sherlock! Sherlock!" she exclaimed as she held the picture over her head.

He lifted his head in time to see that not only was Rosie in the kitchen, but one of her little arms was close to the frying pan holding the other half of the tooth and the hydrogen peroxide. "Rosie, stop!"

The next series of events happened too fast for Sherlock to do anything. Her arm hit the handle in just the right way that the pan twirled right off the counter. Looking up to see what she had hit, the pan tipped toward her enough to release a good amount of hydrogen peroxide onto her face and into her eyes.

Rosie let out a high-pitched shriek of pain. Without thinking, Sherlock latched onto her and lifted her into the air as she cried. He stepped toward the kitchen sink only to realize that the dishes in it as well as the clutter on the counter made it impossible to use. Changing plans, he ran as fast as he could to the bathroom. The sink's counter top had too many stuff on it, so he turned his attention to the tub.

"It hurts!" she yelled as she continued to sob into his shoulder. Her death grip on Sherlock only tightened.

Sherlock yanked off his gloves, using his arms to clutch Rosie to himself. "I know. I know. Whatever you do, don't rub your eyes!"

Once they were off, he removed the shower head and sat on the edge of bath. He managed to lay Rosie down on his lap so that her head was over the tub and her eyes facing upwards. She had them squeezed shut, keeping the rest of the hydrogen peroxide on her face from reaching her eyes. The only thing exiting were her tears. Her hands shook as she resisted the urge to rub her eyes.

Sherlock turned on the water and flipped the handle so that the water came out of the shower head. He guided it over her face, washing away the hydrogen peroxide that threatened to get in her eyes and add to the pain.

Mrs. Hudson entered the bathroom, startled by Rosie's crying. "What's going on?!"

He didn't answer. Instead, deciding the first step was done, held the shower head above the bridge of Rosie's nose.

"Rosie! Rosie!" he said over her cries. She managed to lower her volume somewhat. "I know your eyes hurt, but I need you to blink as many times as you can. Understand?"

She was visibly struggling to open her eyes, but Rosie did her best to blink over and over again.

"Just like that."

"What happened?!" exclaimed Mrs. Hudson.

Sherlock finally acknowledged Mrs. Hudson's presence. "She got hydrogen peroxide in her eyes."

The answer did nothing to calm her. "Oh you poor thing! Will she be all right?!"

"Hydrogen peroxide in the eyes hurts, but as long as it's properly washed out, it shouldn't have any permenant effect on her vision."

Rosie's sobs turned into sniffles. "How long is it going to hurt?"

"Your eyes will be sore until tomorrow, but the worse of it is over."

"How long do I have to stay like this?" she asked.

Sherlock answered, "Normally, I'd say 15 minutes, but we'll do 20 to be safe."

"I don't know how long that is. Is that a long time?"

Mrs. Hudson weighed in, "It will seem like a long time, but it's not long at all." She said to Sherlock, "I'm going to clean up that mess in the kitchen."

As she left, Rosie asked, "Did I ruin the expear mint?"

He mustered up the most soothing voice he was capable of. "I don't want you to worry about that. Just focus on blinking."

She obeyed. "Okay."

Sherlock sighed. This was his fault. There was no denying that. He thought he was performing one of the safest experiments, and yet there he was holding an injured Rosie. He shouldn't have taken his eyes off of her for so long, and as easier as it is for Sherlock to use, he shouldn't have had the pan so that the handle was hanging off the island. Frankly, he didn't even care about the experiment anymore.

Mrs. Hudson reentered the bathroom with a piece of paper. "I found this."

"What is it?" asked Rosie.

"It's your drawing. It's got something wet on it, but nothing that won't dry I'm sure."

To Sherlock's relief, Rosie smiled a bit. "Do you like it, Nana?"

"It's very pretty!" She held the picture in front of Sherlock's face. "Sherlock, have a look."

Rosie still had much to learn about creating art, but Sherlock and John were always able to tell what she had created. The tall stick figure was obviously himself running. Behind him was a shorter stick figure, John, holding a tiny stick figure as it also ran. Sherlock recognized the following four brown and red blobs as the chickens from the petting zoo.

"This is from a few days ago," said Sherlock, "When those hens decided that they didn't particularly care for us. I see it's made out of crayon on simple white paper. You very cleverly mixed red and brown to create the hens. I know your father will enjoy this drawing."

Mrs. Hudson agreed. "He certainly will. I'll let this dry and then put it on the fridge," she said as she left.

Rosie's eyes were able to open a little more under the water as she continued to blink. "It doesn't hurt as much anymore, Sherlock. Has it been 20 minutes yet?"

"I'm afraid not. Why don't I recite your favorite book to pass the time?"

"I don't want you to leave me alone to go get it."

He answered, "There's no need to get it. I won't be able to show you the pictures because of the water, and I've memorized all of the words."

This seemed to satisfy her. "Okay. Make sure to get all of the voices right."

"Of course." He cleared his throat before continuing, "Jane hated sewing."

* * *

Rosie had to stand on a step stool to stare at her eyes in the bathroom mirror. They were noticeably red and sore like Sherlock had said. The man in question was standing behind her.

"You promise that they won't be red forever?"

"I promise," answered Sherlock. "Will you be all right?"

She continued to stare at herself before saying, "I kind of look like Superman before he shoots lasers out of his eyes."

"Perhaps. I admit that I am not very familiar with him."

She stepped down off the stool. "Daddy will agree with me."

He tensed thinking about John's return to Baker Street.

* * *

 **We'll see John's reaction in the next chapter (he's not going to be happy). Also, like I said earlier, the antagonists will be making their first appearance.**

 **Feel free to let me know what you think!**


	3. The Fight

**Hi! I tried to post this chapter earlier, but my internet connection decided not to cooperate today. I just hope that this chapter's worth the wait!**

* * *

After paying the cabbie, John stepped out into the moonlight. It was abnormally busy at the clinic and he was very much looking forward to relaxing at home. He nearly chuckled at the thought. When was 221B ever relaxing?

He entered the building and began his trek up the stairs. "Hello!" he called up.

In the living room, Sherlock and Rosie were playing with her dolls. At the sound of her father's voice, Rosie gasped in delight and shot up to her feet. Sherlock stood up himself and nervously waited for John to notice Rosie's eyes.

John made it to the top of the stairs and got down on his knees to hug his daughter and kiss her on the cheek. When he pulled back to ask her about her day, his smile vanished. Her eyes were red as if she had pink eye, but John could tell that that wasn't it.

He placed his hands on both sides of her face as he took a closer look. "Rosie? What happened to your eyes?"

Rosie looked down in shame. "I knocked over an expear mint."

John looked over to Sherlock who was intently looking through some books on the shelf. He was doing his best to give off an aura of nonchalance despite his growing anxiety of whatever was to come. He didn't have to wait long.

John released Rosie and stood up. "Sweetheart, why don't you go ahead and pick out what pajamas you want to wear?"

"It's already time for bed?"

"Not quite yet, but you should still get ready. Go on."

Hesitantly, Rosie left in the direction toward her room. Sherlock ceased pretending to look for a book as John went to the kitchen.

Sherlock followed. "John."

John looked into the sink to see a pan he was sure wasn't there before.

"John, I know what you're going to say and-"

"What was it?" he asked, failing to hide his anger.

"Hydrogen peroxide. Her eyes will be back to normal soon."

John turned around to face him, trying not to shout. "So you're telling me, that you performed an experiment with hydrogen peroxide while you were supposed to be watching Rosie, and she was somehow able to get some in her eyes."

"To be fair, I didn't see her coming. You see-"

John snapped, his voice rising, "It doesn't matter if you saw her coming! The point is you were supposed to be watching her! Not doing experiments!"

"I was watching her!" Sherlock defended, "I told her to stay in the living room while I was working!"

"Because children are well known for staying away from places they shouldn't go!"

"She forgot that she wasn't allowed in the kitchen!"

John passed Sherlock to enter the living room. "You shouldn't even be doing experiments in the kitchen at all! Much less when you're supposed to be watching a little girl!"

Sherlock turned back toward him. "We agreed that I could do experiments as long as I only used ingredients found in the common household!"

John turned and pointed a finger at Sherlock. "And you've completely forgotten that I also said not when you're watching Rosie!"

He didn't remember that bit, but he wasn't going to admit it. "You give her too little credit!"

"You got hydrogen peroxide in her eyes because you didn't listen to me! I entrusted you with my daughter, thinking that you would be able to handle it! But you know what?! My mistake!"

"You don't think I can take care of her?!"

"Even when I'm here something is bound to happen! Like when she saw those crime scene photos and had to sleep in our room for months! Or all of those times when you announce very, _very_ gruesome details of a new case while completely disregarding Rosie's presence! And let's not forget when she managed to sneak out of the flat and go to Speedy's! Honestly, it was only a matter of time before something like this happened! You're a walking and talking hazard, Sherlock!"

The room went silent. A hurt expression appeared on Sherlock's face before disappearing in an instant. Anyone who wasn't John would have missed it.

John found a good amount of his anger disappearing with that look. "Sherlock..."

Sherlock went over to where his belstaff was hanging and took it off. "A hazard? Well..." He swung his belstaff on. "Perhaps I should leave, then. Wouldn't want any more harm to befall Watson and Daughter." He grabbed his scarf and headed out the door.

"Sherlock, wait!" The door leading to the stairwell slammed. John sat in his chair and put his face in his hands. While he was still mad at him, he was also feeling guilty over his words. Sherlock was not an easy person to get to, and yet John was somehow able to insult him enough to get him to storm out. It was a bit confusing how Sherlock wasn't able to simply shrug his words off.

"Daddy?" John looked over to see Rosie walking over to him in her yellow pajama bottoms and white pajama top with the cartoon bee. A Christmas gift from Sherlock.

John held his arms out and Rosie sat in his lap. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Just a little." She looked to the door. "Is Sherlock coming back?"

He smiled. "Of course he is. Sometimes people need to take a break from each other. He'll be back soon enough."

"You should say you're sorry for yelling at him. That'll make everything better."

"Perhaps I should. Now, let's go brush your teeth."

Rosie slid off his lap. "I don't want to go to bed until Sherlock gets back."

"How about I'll have Sherlock tell you goodnight when he returns?"

After visibly thinking it over, she nodded.

"Come on then."

* * *

Sherlock walked aimlessly through the streets of London. It wasn't very cold, but he was still slightly hunched over with his coat collar turned up and hands in his pockets. The few people he came across were obviously intimidated by his demeanor.

He knew storming out of the flat was a bit childish, but John used to 'go out' when a fight really upset him. If John had done it, then certainly it would be fine if Sherlock did too. He couldn't be in the same room after John implied that he was too dangerous to be around.

One of his biggest fears since John moved back into 221B with Rosie was that he would leave again. Sherlock had done everything he could think of to make the flat as safe as possible. He no longer accepted walk-in clients, took their address off of his website, installed a security system, and together, they baby-proofed the entire flat. Now he wondered if John believed that no matter what he did, Sherlock would always be a problem to be around. He wasn't sure what he would do if John moved out again, and this time he would be taking Rosie with him.

However, he couldn't let himself be selfish. Rosie was hurt because of him. Sherlock had known since early childhood what to do during certain lab accidents, but according to John, that information isn't common knowledge even among most adults. Children were kept away from labs where they couldn't be injured, and it appeared that that's where John wanted Rosie to be. After today, Sherlock had to agree. He couldn't do experiments in the kitchen anymore.

Children typically weren't exposed to the knowledge of criminal activity in London. Sherlock had assumed that Rosie would have to simply get used to conversations about dead bodies and serial killers. John clearly wasn't on the same page. Really, how did he expect to hide such a large portion of their lives from her? Would John have to stop going on cases? Before the birth of Rosie, Sherlock wouldn't be able to imagine John in any profession without any danger, but he would do anything for his child. Sherlock would also do anything for her, and would do anything for John as well.

If it had been anyone else, Sherlock would have probably disregarded their opinion and continued doing what he wanted. With John, Sherlock realized he would have to compromise. They would have to communicate about what was expected in the future. It wasn't something Sherlock was looking forward to, but something that he knew would have to be done.

He was just going to head back when he heard a, "Psst."

He looked into the dark alley, where a figure was huddled against one of the walls. He couldn't make much out about him except that he was male, unkempt, and holding a cup that rattled with coins. He couldn't even make out many facial features.

"Any spare change?"

Sherlock didn't recognize the voice, so this man wasn't in his homeless network. A potential new recruit was always something to be pleased about, but he was acting suspicious. "It'd be much easier to get money if you were out in the street you know."

The man tensed. "Not with my face, Sir."

He raised an eyebrow before taking out his phone and using the light to shine on the homeless man. The stranger squinted his one open eye at the sudden brightness. His face was covered in dirt and grime, but it didn't hide the scar along his face. The most notable feature, though, was that one side of his upper lip was twisted in a permanent snarl. It was a face that he supposed some would be embarrassed to have. It was a plausible explanation for staying in the darkness.

"All right." Sherlock knew the risks of approaching this man in an alley, but a new member was promising, and Sherlock could defend himself if the man suddenly decided to attack him. He took out his wallet and stepped into the alley. He figured twenty pounds would be a good amount to give. When he was less than a meter away, he noticed the man go rigid, as if ready to get up.

He didn't expect the real attack to come from behind.

There was a sharp pain in his neck and then an arm wrapped around his chest to hold him still. Sherlock leaned his head forward to gain momentum and swing it back at his attacker, but his head refused to finish the movement. In fact, he heard his wallet and phone hit the pavement as his arms involuntarily relaxed. It wasn't long before his entire body felt heavy. Nothing was cooperating anymore. If the person behind him wasn't holding onto him, he would have crumpled to the ground.

"Sleep now," said a voice from behind him. It was oddly gentle for an abductor.

Sherlock being Sherlock didn't listen to the order. He struggled to stay conscious and to listen to what was being said between the mysterious man and the supposed homeless person. He couldn't make out what they were saying, but he managed to stay awake long enough to feel himself being lifted and carried through the alley. The last thing he saw before the darkness claimed him was the homeless man waving goodbye.

* * *

 **And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how Sherlock was able to be abducted. Of course, it's only a matter of time before people realize he's missing.**

 **Did you guys catch the reference to _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_? If you didn't, I added a character from _The Man with the Twisted Lip_. This character's going to be important in the future.**

 **Please, let me know what you think!**


	4. The Realization

**This chapter focuses on everyone's, particularly John's, reactions to Sherlock missing. Guess who finds out first (with the help of government surveillance).**

* * *

John was startled awake by the sound of his cellphone ringing. He looked around the room, briefly wondering why he was sleeping on the couch. He quickly remembered how he decided to wait in the living room so he could tell Sherlock to see Rosie when he got back.

The phone kept ringing, demanding John to answer it. He found it on the floor next to the couch and read the caller ID. It revealed that the person calling was Mycroft.

He answered the phone. "Hello."

"Good morning, Dr. Watson," he greeted.

"Sherlock went out last night. I don't think he's back yet."

"He isn't."

John sighed. "Do you know this because he's with you, or because of your surveilance around Baker Street?"

"The latter, I'm afraid." Of course it was. "There's a car waiting for you out front. Please get in and I'll meet you and Lestrade in approximately ten minutes."

"I still have to get ready and see if Mrs. Hudson can watch Rosie."

"No time to get ready I'm afraid," said Mycroft, "Mrs. Hudson should be up by now. Simply stop by and tell her the situation."

"And what is the situation?"

When John received no answer, he looked at the screen to see that Mycroft had hung up. He thought about simply going back to sleep to spite him, but it could have to do with Sherlock and he didn't want to inconvenience Greg.

He looked at his reflection in the window. His hair wasn't too messy and his clothes only had a few wrinkles from being slept in. It shouldn't be a problem if he was only going to be seeing Mycroft, Greg, and possibly Sherlock. The only thing he should be concerned about was his morning breath. He'd have to keep his distance when talking.

John went downstairs and knocked on the door of 221A. He heard movement from inside before Mrs. Hudson opened the door.

"Hello, John! What are you doing up so early?"

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson," he said, "Mycroft just called. I have to go meet him and Greg. Could you watch Rosie while I'm gone? She should be up in an hour or so."

Mrs. Hudson's face lit up. "Of course, Dear!"

John thanked her before heading out the door. A shiny, black car greeted him as soon as he stepped out. "Here we go."

* * *

A few minutes later, the car stopped in front of an alley blocked by police tape. There were about two cruisers with them on the street as well as a few officers in the area. Mycroft and Greg were talking in the alley.

John exited the vehicle and scanned the area for Sherlock. He didn't think he'd miss a crime scene, but he didn't see him anywhere. Maybe he already came and went. That would explain why there's no body.

He approached Greg and Mycroft. "Someone want to tell me what's going on?"

Greg asked John, "Are you sure Sherlock didn't return to the flat?"

Mycroft answered for John, "As I've already told you Detective Inspector, he did not return to Baker Street. He would have been seen by my surveilance. This is the last place we were able to track him to."

John felt like his head was spinning. "Wait, wait. Are you saying that we don't know where Sherlock is?"

"That is precisely what I'm saying, Dr. Watson."

Greg rubbed his temples as he said, "We can't file a missing persons report yet." He crossed his arms. "He has to be missing for twenty-four hours, and it hasn't even been twelve yet."

"I am fully aware of the procedure. Nevertheless, I am convinced that something has happened to him."

John wanted to say something, but his throat suddenly went dry. Mycroft was never one to get these things wrong. He was even willing to come here himself to investigate rather than send someone on his behalf. That in itself spoke volumes.

He managed to speak, trying to be optimistic. "What makes you so sure?"

Mycroft answered him, "I got a call earlier this morning saying that Sherlock had stopped moving in this alley. The explanation upon further inspection turned out to be that his phone was left in this location along with the tracker inside it. Video from the camera on an adjacent building shows that Sherlock did indeed enter this alley, but didn't exit. He must have been taken out the other end where we were forbidden to install any cameras. Something about concerns over privacy." He said the last sentence like it was the most silly concern the public could have.

Greg commented, "You say taken when he could have simply wanted to be left alone and got rid of his phone so he couldn't be tracked."

John replied, "Sherlock always keeps his phone with him. It's one of his only links to getting cases."

"Exactly, Dr. Watson," said Mycroft, "And he wouldn't have left it in the middle of an alley. He would have tried to conceal it."

"Okay," said Greg, "I'll give ya that. What's to say he didn't drop it from his hand or pocket? You and I agree that the phone wasn't set down."

"According to our footage, Sherlock was holding his phone and wallet when he entered the alley. Having it fall out of his pocket is unlikely. And since this part of London is quieter than most, he and the homeless person he was approaching would have heard it hit the cement."

"Homeless person?" asked Greg.

"Why else would he take out his wallet in an alley?"

John asked, "Where is his phone now?"

"We sent it to forensics," said Greg, "See what they could find."

Mycroft said to Greg, "And I will send you the last footage of Sherlock to you and your most competent staff."

This was becoming too real for John. His head was continuing to spin and he actually felt bile rise in his throat. Mycroft had footage of Sherlock right before he went missing. Mycroft wouldn't misinterpret Sherlock's body language. If Sherlock meant to disappear, Mycroft would see it in the video.

"John," said Greg, "you look pale."

He nodded. "Yeah, it's just... Sherlock stormed out because we had a row. He never came back." It sounded silly for him to say at that moment, but John couldn't really find it in himself to say or even think anything else.

 _Sherlock left because he was upset. Never came back._

 _Sherlock stormed out because of him. Now he's disappeared._

 _Sherlock ran away from John. Now he's in danger._

 _It was all his fault that Sherlock left. It was all his fault that Sherlock was taken._

"Dr. Watson." John blinked several times before returning to reality. Greg had left to talk to another officer, leaving only Mycroft.

"Sorry. You were saying?"

"There is no doubt in my mind that someone has Sherlock. That is the only explanation. I have more faith in you than I do Scotland Yard at the moment. You will assist the Yard and myself to recover him."

Under normal circumstances, John would have said something snippy or sarcastic at the way Mycroft was talking to him, but all he could do was nod.

"I'm glad you're cooperative for once."

After all that Sherlock's done for John, he had to return the favor. He had to find him and return him home to himself and Rosie. He had to find him and apologize for what he said. He had to reunite his daughter with one of her favorite persons in the world. Sherlock must have taught him some tricks since they met that he can use.

"Mycroft, I need you to send me a copy of the footage."

They both knew that John wasn't going to see anything Mycroft or the Yard couldn't see, but Mycroft nodded anyway. "Of course. In the meantime, I'd suggest you go home."

That suggestion surprised John, but he headed back to the car anyway. He admitted that he did need to rest. However, when he realized that he needed to tell Rosie about this, John wasn't sure he'd be able to relax back at home.

* * *

John entered 221B to see Mrs. Hudson dusting and Rosie sitting on the couch, talking about what the argument between Sherlock and himself.

Rosie turned her head towards the door, disappointed. "Sherlock never said goodnight."

John sighed. "That's because Sherlock didn't come home last night."

"Oh. Then where is he?"

John glanced at Mrs. Hudson, who also seemed curious about Sherlock's whereabouts. Then he walked over to the where Rosie was sitting and kneeled in front of her.

He took her little hands in his. "Sweetheart, do you know what it means to be kidnapped?" John heard Mrs. Hudson's sharp intake of breath behind him.

Rosie scrunched up her face in thought. "I've heard you and Sherlock say that word when you talk about work sometimes, but I don't know what it means. Why?"

This was even more difficult than he thought it would be. "How do I explain it? Remember at the park when that boy stole your shovel?"

She nodded. "That maked me very mad."

"Well... people can be stolen too. A person will take another person away from their friends and family. The person who was taken away doesn't want to be with them, so the kidnapper, or the person who stole the other person, has to keep them trapped."

Rosie's expression didn't change. She just continued to sit there, looking at John.

"What I'm trying to say is... Sherlock was stolen from us. Someone took him away last night."

The silence was deafening. Rosie was very still, seemingly stuck in her own thoughts. Even if she didn't realize what dangers Sherlock was truly in, him disappearing would tear her apart.

The tears welling up in her eyes broke his heart. "Get him back."

Oh how he wanted to. "We don't know who took him, Sweetheart. They're keeping him hidden so that we don't know where he is."

The tears slid out of her eyes as his words sunk in. Then she began sobbing and threw her arms around his neck. He clutched onto her as she cried into his shoulder.

"Give him back!" she exclaimed, "Give him back!"

John knew Rosie understood that he couldn't give Sherlock back. It was simply all she could comprehend to say at that moment. Whether or not that was why, John wished he could return Sherlock to her. She adored him. She was too young to explain why, but John figured much of it had to do with the fact that Sherlock adores her right back. Last night, John had implied that Sherlock didn't care about her. That was an absolute lie. He loved Rosie like she was his own daughter.

Not only did he want to give him back for Rosie, but for himself. Sherlock was more than his best friend at this point. He's saved John's life more than once in more ways than Sherlock himself knew. He practically cured his psychosomatic leg, risked his own life pulling him out of a bonfire, and helped him find meaning in his life after Afghanistan. Now, he was helping raise John's child.

John tried not to let any tears escape his own eyes. "We're going to look for him. Okay? We're going to try and bring him home."

He felt Rosie nod on his shoulder. "He needs to come back."

"I know."

He felt a hand on his other shoulder and looked up to see Mrs. Hudson. She had an encouraging smile, but her eyes gave away her anxiety and sadness.

She told him, "Sherlock's stubborn. He'll try to escape and come home."

John was well aware how stubborn Sherlock could be. Hopefully, he was also too stubborn to die.

* * *

 **In the next chapter, we'll be catching up with Sherlock.**

 **Feel free to let me know how I did!**


	5. The Awakening

**Here's another chapter! We're catching up with Sherlock and John begins his search at the end!**

* * *

Sherlock's eyelids felt heavy when he awoke. It was tempting to just fall back asleep, but his intuition was telling him to stay alert.

He was aware that he was lying on a bed and tucked in with thick blankets and maybe even a quilt, but the scent of the sheets was all wrong. It was a brand of laundry detergent that no one at Baker Street used. So he wasn't home, but there was a possibility that he was away for a case.

His memory of what happened hit him like a ton of bricks. His eyes shot open and he quickly sat up. He was in a room about the size of his own bedroom. The floorboards seemed old but recently polished. The walls were simple, yellow wallpaper. There were no windows, but there were two doors. One was located across from him on the other side of the room while the other was to his right. Close to the latter door was a wooden dresser.

Sherlock got out of the bed, slightly startled when he felt the cold floor on his feet. Looking down, he was able to observe that the clothes he left 221B in were gone. In its place was a white nightgown that reached his ankles. The sleeves went all the way down to his wrists.

Deciding to deal with his wardrobe troubles later, he opened the door nearest to the bed to find that it was simply a bathroom. Rushing over to the one across the room, he found that he couldn't even turn the knob. This had to be the way out.

He knelt down to examine the lock. It was an older lock, and should be easy enough to pick. He just had to find something that would fit in the keyhole.

Sherlock searched through the dresser only to find that it was only filled with nightgowns identical to the one that he was currently wearing. He then went inside the restroom only to find that it also contained nothing to pick the lock.

He could ambush the person who opened the door next, but the commotion would get the attention of anyone else in the building. He had to figure out how many people were holding him hostage as well as where he was.

Just as he was exiting the bathroom, the lock clicked and the door opened. Sherlock watched as a young man peeked into the room before stepping in completely. He was wearing what looked like a stereotypical monk's robe.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes. How are you feeling?"

The voice wasn't familiar. "You're not the one who took me."

"That was Jared. We all joke that he's like a ninja. If anyone could sneak up behind you, we knew it'd be him. What would you like to eat?"

So there are multiple people in this building. "Where are we?"

"I can't answer that. What would you like to eat?"

"Why am I here?"

The young man replied, "Leader Varick will explain everything to you later."

"Leader? And who are you as opposed to him?"

"I'm Giles Gilchrist. I'm a low rank in the group because I'm focusing so much on uni."

Sherlock scoffed. "Focused indeed. I see you're about to cheat on a Greek test."

Giles looked down at his arms. The sleeves didn't quite cover the notes he made on his arm. "Nothing escapes you, Mr. Holmes."

"That is an accurate statement."

He tried pulling his sleeves over the visible writing. "But I'm really supposed to know what you want to eat."

"So you can drug me again?"

Giles frantically shook his head. "Absolutely not, Mr. Holmes! We want you to keep your strength up!"

That was intriguing. Unless Gilchrist was an expert in being deceitful-which Sherlock highly doubted-these people truly wanted him to stay healthy. An average group of abductors would want to keep him weak to decrease his chance of escaping.

"I am not interested in food," he said, "I just want to know where the exit is. And where my clothes are." Normally, he wouldn't care if he was in Buckingham Palace with nothing but a sheet, but he really liked that scarf and belstaff. John had claimed it was part of his image too.

Giles' eyes widened. "We can't let you leave, Mr. Holmes, and you're not allowed to wear your own clothes. I don't know if your request for no food is allowed. I'll go find out." And with that, he left, locking the door behind him.

Sherlock went over the details in his mind. He didn't know the purpose for being at this unknown location, but that was apparently going to be explained later by a so-called Leader Varick. The way Gilchrist talked suggested that there were numerous people here. What Giles was wearing appeared to be a sort of uniform. A robe like that isn't regularly worn by students at uni, so everyone else is probably wearing this garment too. These people also cared about his well-being. They wanted him to eat and had provided him with a comfortable bed, several nightgowns, and toiletries in the bathroom. However, Giles also let him see his face. That is a classic sign that they don't plan on releasing him alive, but the group might believe that Sherlock won't press charges.

The leader will probably give him more pieces of the puzzle later.

* * *

He didn't have to wait long. The door opened to reveal two women in the same uniform as Gilchrist. Behind them was an old man with the hood of his robe covering his head. His face was heavily wrinkled from his years, especially around the eyes. He had a warm smile on his face.

"Welcome, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock was about to approach him, but was stopped by the two women. They silently began to observe his body, whether they checked his biceps or picking through his curls as if looking for lice. He decided it would be best to simply let them poke and prod, and turned his attention to the old man. "I suppose you're the Leader Varick."

"Indeed I am. We have been waiting months to bring you here, but there was never an opportunity. Despite your infamous standoffish nature, you're practically glued to the side of Dr. Watson." He chuckled. "But no matter. You're here now. With eight days to spare, but you're here."

"I don't know the date and time, so I can't tell you what's in eight days."

The slight shock that appeared on his face reminded Sherlock when Mrs. Hudson forgot to take a picture or when John forgot to text back a colleague. "My apologies, Mr. Holmes! It's approximately noon. You arrived here last night."

Varick spoke as if he believed Sherlock came here of his own accord. It was as if he didn't fully register that Sherlock didn't want to be here. "Thank you. It's best that I head back home. I have friends and family that are wondering where I am by now."

Before Sherlock could get away from the two women examining him, Varick held out his hands as if to stop him from moving. "I'm afraid you can't leave. You must be prepared for the ceremony. Remember, we only have eight days."

Sherlock's mind raced as he tried to think of what was in eight days that the group would be interested in. It wasn't going to be a full or new moon, and there wasn't a holiday. "What ceremony would that be?"

Varick's face lit up. "The Ceremony of Metuendus. Every twenty years Metuendus looks to Earth to satisfy his hunger. We, The People of Concordia, aim to satisfy this hunger when he arrives."

Metuendus. Latin for dreadful, terrible, and which is to be feared. Concordia. Also Latin. This time for harmony. It can then be concluded that this otherworldly figure is something, that while Varick speaks of with fondness, frightens this cult. In addition, the cult views themselves as the barrier between Metuendus and society.

"We must provide the best humanity has to offer. This year, we wanted to offer the best mind. Your mind."

Sherlock knew where this was going, and this was one of those rare moments where he wanted to be wrong. Nevertheless, he kept a calm demeanor. "And how do you plan to do that?"

"You will be brought to the altar to be sacrificed to Metuendus. I know this must be quite a shock, but I assure you, it is a great honour. You will be ensuring the safety of humanity."

"If it's such a great honour, then why don't one of you do it?"

"If we hadn't gotten you in time, we would have, but as I've said, we wanted to offer the best."

The two women, seemingly done with their examination, backed away until they were behind Varick. One said to him, "He's in good health. If anything, he needs more food and sleep."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. She sounded just like John.

Varick nodded. "Wonderful. Everything is going to plan. We will be keeping you here until the ceremony, Mr. Holmes. It will help us keep you in the best shape possible. Please, let us know if you need anything. Giles informed us that you weren't hungry, but he'll be bringing you some food anyway."

"I won't eat it."

For the first time since he entered the room, Varick looked angry. He closed the gap between himself and Sherlock. If it weren't for the two women who could sound an alarm, Sherlock would have taken the opportunity to overpower him and get away. "Mr. Holmes, it is our responsibility to offer Metuendus a healthy sacrifice. Your mind must be in top condition. You will eat if we have to force it down your throat. Understood?"

Sherlock refused to break eye contact. "I'd like to see you try."

Varick stormed off as fast as an old man could. The two women followed close behind. When it became apparent that they had locked the door behind them. Sherlock went over to the bed and began to wait. He would eat to keep his strength up, and then take the time to think of an escape plan.

* * *

John stepped out into the street as Mycroft stepped out of his vehicle. They were barely able to give each other a nod before Rosie ran by John and clutched onto Mycroft's legs, nearly knocking him over in surprise.

"They took him, Uncle Minecraft! They stealed Sherlock away! We need to get him back!"

John shot Mycroft a warning look. Now wasn't the time to correct her grammar or his name, and he really hoped he understood that.

Mycroft smiled, but looked very uncomfortable as he pat her on the head. "There, there, Rosamund. We're looking for him." He held up a disc in his other hand. "I was just going to give this to your father."

John gently pried Rosie off of Mycroft and picked her up. "Thank you, Mycroft."

"You're quite welcome. Of course, my most trusted employees and I will be looking through other copies."

John answered, "And I'll do everything I can."

"Me too!"

Mycroft didn't seem to have much confidence in either of the Watsons, but he went back to his vehicle without another word. John took it as his cue to return home. When they reached 221B, John set his daughter down.

"Rosie, why don't you go take your nap while I watch the video. When I'm done, we'll go to the park and see all of your friends. How does that sound?"

She shook her head. "I don't want to take a nap. I want to help find Sherlock!"

"You'll help Sherlock better if you're rested."

"Sherlock stays up for days when he's helping people."

"If it were up to me, Sherlock wouldn't do that. You can even sleep in my bed. Even if you don't fall asleep, I need time to watch this video by myself. That way I can focus." That wasn't the whole truth. John was nervous about what the disc would reveal and he didn't want Rosie to see anything he didn't want her to.

Rosie dejectedly made her way toward his and Sherlock's room. When she was out of sight, John sighed before staring at the disc in his hand as if hoping it had all of the answers in the world.

* * *

 **Did you catch the ACD reference? I'll give you a hint: Giles Gilchrist.**

 **I would really appreciate it if you let me know what you think of this chapter or the story in general!**


	6. The Blog Post

**Hey, it's been awhile!**

 **I'm afraid something came up in my life that just crushed my will to write. Luckily, things are looking much more up nowadays (hopefully I didn't just jinx it by typing that).**

* * *

It didn't take long for Gilchrist to return with food, Sherlock ate it all without a fuss. The sooner he could be alone, the sooner he could plan his escape.

He laid on the bed and put his hands together as he retreated inside his head. Giles had revealed before he left the second time that there were roughly between thirty and fifty people beyond the door. It would be difficult to sneak by all of them without raising an alarm, and it was impossible to tell how far the nearest police station was. However, if they were in the middle of nowhere, then there should be at least one car nearby. He could use it to drive away.

Varick had revealed the time of day earlier with absolutely no sign of lying, but cult leaders are supposed to be master manipulators. Sherlock would have to ask multiple people a day for the time, just to be sure. While he was confident Varick was being truthful, Sherlock couldn't take any chances. He only had a few days to escape, and any unforeseen flaw could ruin a plan and inevitably tighten the security around him.

He had no idea if the cult lived here or if any of them left at night to go home. Asking would raise suspicions, so if it was worth finding out, he'd have to sneak it into a conversation. These people have lives outside of the cult. Gilchrist is going to university and Sherlock could tell that one of the women from earlier was a doctor while the other was a nurse. Assuming most of the cult had jobs, he would have less people to sneak by during the middle of the day. However, he'd have to wait for a weekday, they might take all of the cars, and if there isn't a vehicle to escape in, it'll be difficult to sneak around without the cover of darkness.

Of course, it'd help if he knew where he was.

* * *

 _I'm afraid this isn't going to be like the other posts on my blog. This is a plea for help._

 _Last night, Sherlock stormed out of the flat and never came home. His cellphone and and wallet (minus cash) were found in an alley that he was caught on camera going into. Mycroft believes he was about to give money to a homeless person that no one can identify. He's certain Sherlock's been kidnapped, but Scotland Yard can't file a missing person's report because it hasn't been 24 hours._

 _This is where you all come in. We're holding onto the hope that Sherlock's just flown under the radar and is wandering around somewhere in London. If this is the case, just tell him everyone's looking for him and we're all worried sick. If it seems like he's somewhere against his will, contact the proper authorities. Hell, if you have any information at all, contact Scotland Yard._

 _Sherlock, if you're reading this, you need to come home,_ now _. I_ _can't stress this enough. Mrs. Hudson's tense, Rosie won't stop crying, Greg's trying to be optimistic but he's failing, and even_ Mycroft _is visibly filled with anxiety. I can't even begin to express the fear I'm feeling. If you can, contact us and let us know where you are._

John read and reread his blog post. It was short, but he thought it got the point across. There was no reason to waste time with a long message after watching Sherlock's last known whereabouts three times. He was actually disappointed in himself for not thinking of using his blog earlier. If the police weren't willing to help, Sherlock's loyal fans certainly would.

"Daddy?"

John had been so focused on his laptop that he hadn't realized Rosie had entered the room. He could tell that she didn't get any sleep. Not that John could blame her.

"Hello, Sweetheart. Are you ready to go to the park?"

She shook her head. "I want to stay here."

He set his laptop aside and sat her on his lap. "You do?"

"What if Sherlock comes home and we're not here?"

John wasn't really sure how to respond to that. The chances of Sherlock returning were slim, especially while they were out. However, he didn't want to crush her spirit. He wanted her to remain hopeful even if the likelihood of a happy ending was shrinking the longer Sherlock was missing.

"Then he'll wait here for us. Or maybe he'll deduce we went to the park and join us."

"It won't be the same without him, Daddy." She continued, "What do you think he's doing right now?"

Several possibilities raced through his mind. He could be getting tortured in ways reminiscent of those two years he was away. Or maybe he was going through something completely different than he's ever experienced. Maybe something worse than death. For all John knew, he had already died alone and in terrible agony.

No. He couldn't think like that. Sherlock was strong. He would know how to survive. He would be able to escape, if he was even being held against his will at all. Mycroft's been wrong before.

"Daddy?"

John came back to reality at his daughter's voice. She was looking at him, patiently waiting for an answer. If he waited any longer, she'd grow worried.

"I bet he's trying to find his way home. Just as we're trying to find him." He stood, carrying her as asked, "If you don't want to go to the park, what do you want to do?"

"I'm hungry. Do we have any sweets?"

He chuckled. "How about we have a meal before we think about sweets, hmm?"

* * *

If everyone Sherlock asked was being truthful, the sun had set hours ago. Unfortunately, there was also nothing obvious to pick the lock with. Gilchrist had come a third time and revealed that many members of the cult do live here. That included Varick.

Knowing that they wanted to kill him on a certain date was a double edged sword. On one hand, he can take more risks when trying to escape. No one would kill him as punishment if he was caught. The problem is that he had a time limit.

His first escape attempt will be at lunch. Most of the cult will be at work and he'll be able to see his surroundings when he makes it outside. If he's caught, he'd at least know a substantial amount of information that he wouldn't get at night.

With nothing to do until then, Sherlock decided to spend his time just lying on the bed in wait. He admitted that it was much cozier than any of the ones at Baker Street. Maybe after this was all over and the cult's been arrested, he could take it home.

Home. It'd been twenty-four hours since he'd been there. Scotland Yard could look into his disappearance. Maybe they would be competent enough to actually find him. Mycroft would have already found him if there had been a camera in the alleyway. Sherlock just hoped that he had the good sense not to tell their parents that he was gone. It was no use worrying them.

Then there was John and Rosie. They would have known something was wrong when they woke up and he wasn't home. Despite Rosie's young age, she was smart. She might not grasp all of the dangers that Sherlock was in, but she would be worrying nonetheless. He would prefer that she just thought that he had gotten lost or had to go somewhere after his fight with her father. She might not know about abduction, but thanks to Sherlock and John's career, she was more aware of what _murder_ was than most three-year-olds. She knew that there were bad people lurking in the world, as well as what they were capable of.

He hoped John had forgotten about that whole debacle with his experiment. Rosie's eyes wouldn't be red by now. Even if he was still mad, John was probably missing him and was doing everything he could to help find him. Sherlock honestly wouldn't object if John was overseeing the entire operation. John's admitted to feeling like an idiot compared to Sherlock, but Sherlock had seen his intelligence, strength, and resolve firsthand.

Intelligence, strength and resolve that he was determined to bear witness to again.

* * *

 **Next chapter: John can't sleep and Sherlock attempts to escape!**


End file.
